Tuesday, October 30, 2012

I have almost always attributed this phenomenon to my late birthday. Perhaps that's incorrect. Perhaps it is just me. I was always the youngest of my peers, yes, but I am also cautious by nature and always so afraid of disappointing my mom. I have to figure things out. I have to work through them in my mind. I need a reasonable

Of my friends and of my peers, I always seem to be the last. Since grade school - when I mastered my multiplication tables months after my classmates - I've watched my peers check off milestones. And I'm three steps behind.

I am always three steps behind.

It always happens. It just takes me longer. It always takes me longer.

And I guess that's why I'm not one of those girls who is 30 and devastated because she's not married. Or why I'm not fretting because I haven't birthed a baby or two. Or bought a house. Because, with the exception of academics, the big things take longer for me. They always have.

And they will.

But I am getting sick of waiting. Confident as I am that it will all happen in due time, I am impatient. I am ready for it to be my turn.

Monday, October 29, 2012

I was going to write That Post again. That half-bragging, half-whining post about how my weekend was busy because I made it busy and it’s my fault that I’m exhausted and I can’t learn how to say no, how to live my life without a schedule that is packed so tight that I need to plan out a minute to catch my breath, how I just want a break but I never give myself a break. But you’ve all heard it from me a thousand times over. I’ve written that post a thousand times over. I did it again. I don’t learn.

Among the activities that kept me occupied over the course of my weekend was a soccer tournament on Saturday. My team made it to the tournament final, which means we played five games between 9:30 am and 7:30 pm. It was fantastically fun. I haven’t played in a soccer tournament in years. I forgot what it felt like to play. And play. And play more. And put on a smelly jersey and a pair of shin guards that are still damp from the last game.

Here’s something else I did: filled out my absentee ballot. I received it almost a month ago; I have no idea why it took me so long to sit down and vote for the candidates who I knew that I was voting for long before my ballot arrived. But I did. Dropping it off at the post office this morning was liberating.

My birthday was almost a month ago. I really need to finish up 30 for 30. Also: October? You were an absolute blur. If turning 30 means my life is always going to move at this speed, I’m going to need to reassess a few things (such as my 401k contribution) before I wake up one day and I’m 70.

Dad is feeling better but not great. He’s back to work and his normal routine, but we can all tell that he still isn’t 100% (even though he would never admit it). He has an appointment next week with a really respected, really well-known, ass-kicking concussion/sports neurology specialist. I’m not sure anything can be done for a concussion but wait it out, but I’m glad that he has the appointment nonetheless.

I will be spending approximately 23 hours in Chicago next weekend.

This post has absolutely no direction or point. Much like my life.

But I had gone a few days without posting. I don't like to do that. Makes me nervous.

Thursday, October 25, 2012

I’m so bad at being in a bad mood. I’m just awful at it. I let it take me over, pull me under. When I’m in a bad mood I am consumed by it. I can’t just be crabby. No. It’s never that simple. My career is going nowhere. I am selfish. I am unmotivated. I have no friends. I don’t visit my grandparents enough. My blog is boring. I don’t dedicate enough time or funds to the causes I most believe in. My sister probably hates me. My hair smells funny. The world is going to end.

I spent the first half of this week stuck in a bad mood. It’s not a fun place to be. I’m not good at it. I’m not smart enough to just cry and get it over with. Or drink and get it over with. Or vent and get it over with. I hang on and I try to be cheerful and productive and fine. On the outside. On the inside, I’m a tornado of bad energy. Anxiety. All anxiety. Anxiety seeping out of my pores. (Maybe that is what’s making my hair smell funny.)

I just can’t quite figure out how to be down, but not completely out. To be sad or irritated or disappointed or frustrated without being only sad or irritated or disappointed or frustrated. I could handle being annoyed about something (multiple somethings, even) and still maintaining my sanity in other areas of my life. It would be almost pleasurable, compared to how it is now. When everything – good, bad, otherwise – crushes my soul.

Things that crushed my soul this week: my mom misplacing her cell phone, the fact that I’m not going to be able to go to my own family birthday party because I have to work, my work schedule in general, stairs, salmon, a few really great things that happened to/for The Coach, Aunt Liz, Meg calling me after 11:00 pm, temporarily misplacing a Starbucks gift card, the postponement of a baking project with Lucy, my checking account and my hockey team’s pathetic attempt at play at our Monday night game that was annoyingly inconvenient for me to attend.

Do I need to mention that I’m premenstrual or is that ridiculously, blatantly obvious?

Either I never used to get like this or I was completely oblivious to it.

Wednesday, October 24, 2012

I wanted to stay in bed today. Even though, when I woke up all twisted up in the hoodie I bought the day I finished grad school, I was slightly too warm.

I wanted to stay in bed today. I got up, instead. I started a load of laundry.

I wanted to stay in bed today. There was nothing to pack for lunch.

I wanted to stay in bed today. But a looming deadline shook me awake, turned on the light, put a book in my hand.

I wanted to stay in bed today. My nail polish is chipped.

I wanted to stay in bed today. But I took two days off of work last week. But I rearranged my schedule to accommodate my hockey game on Monday night. But I am too contentious to call in sick unless I am really sick. Or interviewing for a new job.

I wanted to stay in bed today. Lucy and I had made plans to meet for coffee. I wasn’t late.

I wanted to stay in bed today. The weather was gorgeous. Unseasonably warm. I wanted to admire it from my bed.

I wanted to stay in bed today. I taught a computer class full of little old ladies. I helped a girl find a copy of The Color Purple. I had a cup of tea and it tasted foul.

I wanted to stay in bed today. My mom called and I assumed that someone had died.

Tuesday, October 23, 2012

The half marathon I ran on Sunday was, by far, the best of the whopping 3 half marathons I have participated in.

Still wasn’t easy.

It took a lot out of me. I forgot to anticipate that. The early morning, combined with the long distance (my longest training run was 12 miles), the pace (I usually train at around a 10 minute/mile pace, I ran at 8:40something) and all of the excitement? Exhausting.

There isn’t enough coffee in the world to combat Marathon Monday.

Today, I don’t have an excuse.

My legs hardly hurt. I got more than 7 hours of sleep. And I’m useless.

That’s how I feel at work lately. Useless.

I don’t know what the source of this problem is. If it’s the environment or my supervisor or the entire organization or my coworkers or if it’s just me. I can’t find my best self when I’m here. I’m doing what I need to do, but it isn’t coming with any satisfaction. I don’t feel like I’m fulfilling any purpose. I’m just working. Doing what I need to do and listening to seemingly endless talk about being innovative and creative and watching every innovative and creative idea that comes out of a staff meeting get shot down or smothered by bureaucracy.

I know that it’s a job. I know that it isn’t supposed to always be fun and that I’m not always supposed to like it. But I feel like I’m being smothered. This asphyxiation is agonizingly slow. Kill me now. Render me brain dead so that I can do the work without feeling it.

That's all I do. I feel it. Every worthless second I feel and it hurts. So much. Because I know that I can be more and do more. And I'm not sure if the problem is me -- do I severely lack motivation? -- or if it's circumstance. Or if this is just what working is like so I just need to give it up and stop hoping for more.

Sunday, October 21, 2012

I can't quite say that I jumped out of bed when my alarm clock went off at 4:50 am. Even with the pumpkin oatmeal I had waiting for me in the refrigerator.﻿

﻿

Meg's iPhone took a fatal t﻿umble out of her hands and onto the cement as soon as we parked the car. Not the start to the morning that we were looking for.

Fortunately, she rallied.

It's always a great day to be in the city. So much positive energy. So much life in a place that﻿ is so often painted in a darker light. (See the documentary Detropia, by the way. I did on Friday.)

I ran well. I felt good. I finished ahead of my goal time of 2:00. I beat my personal record by 6 minutes.

Kind of goes to show you that, if you run consistently through the year (as I absolutely did in this past year), you don't have to cram for a half marathon. I erred on the lazy side of my training plan and it didn't hurt me. Because I didn't start my training from scratch. I never really stopped training from last October.﻿

When we were done, ﻿Meg and I met Mom and Dad (who cheered us at two points on the race course -- Mom said she cried) back at their downtown hotel. After showers and ample time to complain about our sore legs, we headed out for snazzy brunch.

Friday, October 19, 2012

I took today and Thursday as vacation days so that I could help with Lacey's "wedding." And then Lacey went and had her special day last weekend. But I decided to take the days off anyway. I kind of felt like I could use the break.

The only person who knows I had the days off -- besides my coworkers -- was Lucy. We met for coffee yesterday; I babysat for Baby A for a few hours today.

And I was the happiest girl in all the world.

The pace I have been keeping is unsustainable. I didn't take it entirely easy over the last two days, but I generally did what I wanted, when I wanted to and that alone felt like a luxury.

I visited Dad yesterday in the evening. We watched baseball together before I made dinner and headed out in search of athletic glory. I was subbing for a friend's soccer team, which was the perfect excuse to get out of the house before I was forced to spend too much time with my mom. Who I am still a little pissed at. Who is reportedly still pissed at Meg and me.

Tomorrow is scheduled to be another quiet day. I want to watch my team win a football game. I have to pick up my race packet for the half marathon I am running on Sunday. And I have to carb load.

Not that doing so is any drastic departure from my normal diet.

What is strange about this weekend's half marathon is how nonchalantly I am approaching it. Other than plan out my outfit, I haven't put too much thought into the race. I haven't decided if that's a good sign or a bad sign.

What about you guys? Anything exciting happening this weekend? Any sporting events that you're participating in? Participating in watching?

Wednesday, October 17, 2012

I was pissed at my mom all day yesterday. I heard nothing from her between 11:00 pm – when she told me that they were at the hospital – until 3:00 pm when she called to cancel dinner on her way home from work.

My continual ranting rubbed off on Meg, unfortunately, and then there were two angry daughters.

And then the one angry daughter – Meg – went home. Fought with my mother. Left.

Mom was so pissed at Meg that she called me to bitch me out. In essence: how dare you be pissed at me for not giving you updates. I didn’t have any updates, I didn’t have time to give you updates, I am trying to take care of your father and hold down my full-time job.

Basically, she was exhausted (she got three hours of sleep the night before) and probably a little bit scared (my dad started puking, which is definitely not a sign that a concussion is improving) and angry that we were calling her on her shit.

The best part was when she proclaimed that Meg and I were being selfish. For wanting to know how our dad was doing instead of going about our days without giving this accident a second thought. Not so rational.

My end of the conversation went a little like this: “so, are you calling to update me on Dad or are you calling to scream at me? I’m still at work. And if you’re calling just to scream at me, I’ll call you once I leave.”

She hung up on me.

Meg contacted my mom’s BFF so that she could call and talk her down. (I think it helped.)

My grandma called with an update on my dad, which was really just an opportunity for her to say “your mother is worried about your dad, sweetheart, so don’t take anything she says to heart.”

My mom never gets irrational like this. She never acts so insane. Yesterday was truly a monumental day, when I could tell my grandma that my mom is “100%, completely psychotic” (Grandma agreed) and mean it.

She must have been really scared. And really tired.

I talked to Meg after I left work. She thought that one of us should go over to the house – even though she had just recently stormed out of it – and I volunteered. I had grand plans to watch the USA soccer game and the debates and chill. Instead, I stopped at home and packed a bag and drove to Mom and Dad’s.

I made a pit stop at Trader Joe’s for food. Because food cures all.

And when I got home, I immediately started poaching chicken for chicken salad and cooing over my father and trying to keep myself busy enough to make my mom happy. I announced that I would be staying the night – I worked an afternoon shift today, so I would be available in the morning to hang out with my dad the next morning – and that was that.

I packed her up lunch because I’m a sucker like that. I sat and watched baseball with my dad even though I wanted to watch soccer. I made us oatmeal for breakfast this morning and I did a few loads of laundry and straightened up the house and played with the dog. I did exactly what I would have done if she had just asked me to come over and help, instead of expect me to somehow magically know that she needed help with my dad even though she hadn’t bothered to give me an update.

I did get two of my grandma’s apple dumplings out of the deal and I got to see my dad on his birthday, so all was not lost.

And when Dad is past this, I'm going to give Mom a few pointers on how to better handle this kind of situation the next time. Or, better yet, I’ll have Meg do it.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

My dad, helping coach my cousin’s hockey team, walked across the ice in his street shoes, slipped on a patch of ice that was recently resurfaced, fell, hit his head, knocked himself out and got a mighty big cut. Stupid.

My mom, who has a cell phone but largely cannot be counted on to answer it unless she’s expecting a call (or we’re in the midst of a family emergency that she, like, already knows about), was MIA for a good two hours last night following my dad’s grand slip and fall. Stupid.

My dad calls my 78 year old grandmother to pick him up from the rink. He insists that she take him home, instead of to the hospital. Stupid.

Meg learns about all of this in a phone call from my uncle. I learn about it in a text message from Meg. Stupid.

My dad wants to wait for my mom before he goes to the hospital, even though my mom has to be up at 4:30 am on Tuesday mornings and going to the hospital and getting checked in and getting the process started and presuming that she’ll meet you there at some point (if she ever answers the phone) is going to cut significant time off of the sleep she’s inevitably going to be missing.

Noticing the 20 missed calls on her phone, my mom calls me. And then she calls home. And then she calls me back for the full story. “You know I wasn’t there, right?” Nor did I talk to my uncle. Nor did I talk to my father. Stupid.

My mom sends me a text message to say that they’re in the ER, waiting for staples and for a CT scan. News that I pass on to Meg. And that’s the last I heard from them. 12 hours ago. Because telling me “we’re home, all is good!” is too difficult? Yes, a phone call or a text message would have woken me up. But it also would have let me sleep past 5:00 am, when I started tossing and turning and wondering what happened at the hospital. Stupid.

And I still don’t know what happened at the hospital. Stupid.

And now I’m fielding text messages from my cousins, who saw our younger cousin’s “I’m so glad that Uncle is okay. I love you, Uncle, get better soon!” Facebook status this morning. And I can’t even tell them anything. Because I don’t know anything. Stupid.

Today is my dad’s birthday and we have plans to go to dinner, which is convenient. Because I need to yell at him and my mom in person. They did this once before, this bullshit where they didn’t let me know what was happening, and it pissed me off then and it’s pissing me off now.

Happy birthday, Dad. I love you and I'm glad you're okay (MAYBE. I AM JUST GUESSING. I DO NOT LIKE JUST GUESSING.) and you’re annoying.

Monday, October 15, 2012

Unusual. Emma texts me from time to time, but it isn’t to tell me that she loves me.

I held my breath for a minute. I thought about calling her. I decided I would text her back, see what she said, see how she seemed.

She returned my love with a little more love and then she fell silent. I didn’t dwell on it.

A few hours later, just as I was getting into bed, I checked Twitter. She had tweeted “You're sure gonna miss me when I'm gone.”

And that nagging worry turned into a full-fledged panic.

Emma has depression and anxiety. I’ve never thought of her as a suicidal depressed person. I've never worried about her in that way. But, still. She told my mom recently that she isn’t taking her meds.

I was drawing conclusions and they weren’t good ones.

I tried to tell myself to leave her alone, to stop being such a crazy worrier and resist calling her. I wanted to call my mom and I wanted to not call my mom. Emma is always my mom’s problem. She was on vacation. She should be on vacation from Emma, too. I wanted to call Meg. I wanted to drive to Emma’s school and knock on her apartment door until she answered.

I compromised and I sent her another text message. She responded almost immediately. Relief.

I don’t know what I would have done if I hadn’t heard from her. I don’t know what I would have done if she wasn’t okay.

I didn’t feel entirely better until I talked to her the next afternoon. I still don’t feel entirely better. I won’t until she takes her medicine. Until she takes care of herself.

Sunday, October 14, 2012

I am not a girl who has her entire wedding planned out, but that's a wedding (/engagement party/hippie lovefest) that I know that I don't want. I would rather not have one, honestly, than have one like that.

It was basically a high school graduation open house. In October. In the rain. Very cold rain.

(I kind of find high school graduation open houses to be a form of cruel punishment.)

The event started at 4 pm and, because I had to work yesterday, I didn't get there until 6:00 pm. Lucy and Chet and Baby A left at 6:30 pm. Which was seriously a little mean, them leaving me there with Lacey's family and seriously nobody else who I knew. Lucy said to me today "I felt a little like we were abandoned you" which, YES, THAT IS EXACTLY WHAT YOU DID. And I want to be a little bit mad about it but I'm not even going to bother because I don't have the energy.

I hung out for a while longer and just wanted to cry. Lacey did an awful time of working the room (and by room, I mean rented tent and garage) and her family is a little bit nutty and I never got to talk to her betrothed (although he did seem likable when I met him on Friday) and, honestly, I enjoyed myself for approximately 17 seconds during the entire time that I was there.

Lucy talked to Lacey today and apparently the party was exactly what she wanted.

So I guess we did okay after all.

As long as my own enjoyment of the event doesn't count.

And as long as I don't calculate the ratio of minutes spent preparing for the party to minutes spent at the party.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

I wouldn't mind repeating yesterday a few times over. It was a really, really good day. Perfect, maybe, if things can be perfect. But I'm not sure that they can.

I am dogsitting for my parents. It’s a convenient weekend for them to be gone, as they live just a few minutes from where Lacey’s parents live. Which is the location of today’s non-wedding wedding/engagement party/hippie lovefest. Which Lacey and her betrothed are attending. (I don’t know how they rented a car, but they rented a car.)

Because I was already so close to the scene of the crime, Lucy and I decided to use my mom’s kitchen to make apple crisp.

The floor plan at Mom and Dad’s house is pretty open. The kitchen opens up to the family room, so we were able to make a baby trap for Baby A (translation: face love seat to couch, push together.) so he could see us while we worked. And while he worked.

Baby A does all sorts of important work these days. Yelling at high pitches. Banging of blocks. Cuddling of various stuffed creatures. Delighted pats to attention-starved brown dogs.

We ate baked pumpkin oatmeal and we drank coffee and we baked up three pans of apple crisp in a respectably short period of time.

We packed up Baby A (who fell asleep the second we got in the car) and we headed over to Lacey’s, where we stayed for a few hours. Long enough to get a few things done, short enough to not fall slaves to the non-wedding wedding/engagement party/hippie lovefest. Having a baby is such a convenient excuse to leave places exactly when you want to leave.

After we left, I had the brilliant idea of swinging by the local gourmet carry-out/catering place. We picked up killer salads, salmon and bread pudding for our late lunch.

Before we ate, though, we stopped at my grandma’s. I needed to borrow a few serving pieces for the party. Grandma got to coo over Baby A for a few minutes. Everybody won.

And then we ate. Which was like winning once again.

Lucy and the baby left. I had a couple of hours to myself. I talked to The Coach. I ordered pizza for Meggie to pick up on her way over. We found the untelevised USA Soccer game on a maybe-not-so-legal internet feed and we crammed into my mom’s office – which has an armchair and a couch and is quite cozy – to watch it.

Grandpa stopped by – delivering food from Grandma and four treats for the dog. (She’s so cute and sweet.)

I listened to the radio broadcast of The Coach’s team’s game.

I put together a dessert tray. I made Lucy a list of all of the things that she needs to retrieve from the house tomorrow. (Soup. Pudding shots. Applesauce. Dessert tray.)

I fell into bed tired but, strangely, not exhausted.

I think that maybe you don’t get so tired, when you’re doing exactly what you want to do with exactly who you want to do it with.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

I've been 30 for one week and one day and I'm still answering 30 questions to celebrate my 30th birthday. If I had to turn 30, drawing out the celebration (at least on my blog) was (and continues to be) critical.

#10/30 -- from Kari

Maybe something about how you and the coach left things -- ie did you have the talk etc?

When The Coach left back in July – and up until quite recently – I didn’t want to write about him.

Forgive me for pretending that he didn’t exist. I just needed a little bit of time to reset. I needed to step back and figure out where – and if – he fits into my life.

When he left, he pissed me off. I told him that he pissed me off. Being so up front was a rare course of action for me (I prefer to quietly stew in my own misery), but it needed to be done. And I’m glad that I did it. Because I never once stood up for myself, I never once made it clear that I was anything but ready and willing and able at his every whim.

After that, I let things go. I stopped caring. I still hear from him. I still talk to him. I still adore him. He is still part of my life. But not like before.

It will never be like before, when all I wanted was him to like me enough. When all I wanted was for him to see me. When all I needed was for him to take one step forward. A small step. An infinitesimal step. And he never did.

It will never be like before. I know that there is no chance. I know that there is no future. I have stop pretending. I have stopped hoping.

Tuesday, October 09, 2012

Last weekend, Lacey went MIA and Lucy sent me a text message that said something along the lines of “Lacey isn’t returning my phone calls or text messages. Or her mom’s.” Cue panic. Was she having second thoughts? Is this not going to happen? Did we make gallons of applesauce for no reason?

She resurfaced the next day. Apparently Lacey was at a festival with men cutting logs and no cell phone service.

What? That’s what Lucy told me.

Reassured that this event was going to happen, Lucy and I proceeded with our tasks on Friday. We spent the morning making two huge batches of minestrone soup. In the afternoon, we transitioned to pudding shots. (Complete with sprinkles on top because we like to keep it classy.)

It was during our soup making that Lucy broke the news to me that she and I were now in charge of the favors for the non-wedding wedding/engagement party/hippie lovefest. Lacey’s mom originally said no favors. Now she wants favors. Lucy, always happy to strike a bargain, told her we would take on the project if she would be so kind as to relieve us of our cupcake duties.

We decided that sugar cookies, wrapped up all cute in cellophane with some ribbon and a clever tag would suffice.

Over the weekend, I started on the sugar cookies. I’m just throwing them into the freezer until later in the week, when Lucy and I will frost ‘em and bag ‘em up.

Somewhere in the midst of my cookie baking, Lucy sends me a text message. “Funny story. Talked to Lacey. She doesn’t have enough money to rent a car next week.”

When I talked to Lucy later, she told me a lengthy story about Lacey and her betrothed. They don’t have credit cards. They don’t have enough money in their checking accounts to cover the hold that a rental company would put on their debit cards. Lacey’s parents had just given them a bunch of money. Blah, blah, blah.

Lucy suggested the bus.

(I was so relieved that she didn’t offer to pay for the rental car.)

So, basically, I’m busting my ass to make 150 sugar cookies for a non-wedding wedding/engagement party/hippie lovefest that I don’t even know is going to happen.

Monday, October 08, 2012

I was crabby yesterday and my rotten mood bled over into today. There is no real reason I’m acting like such a sourpuss. I’m just annoyed. About everything.

My chief annoyance is with Meg. Meg went to South Carolina to visit her boyfriend, Drew, this weekend. The thing with Meg that sometimes sets me off is that she always gets what she wants. It’s probably because that’s what she expects. For the universe to bend to her every whim. And the universe usually does.

So, regardless of being a week into her new job, Meg took Friday off (it was okayed before she started, of course, but it seemed ballsy to even ask) and went to visit Drew. I took her to the airport on Thursday evening. I was to pick her up from the airport at 6:15 last night but her fight was delayed and her new arrival time conflicted with my hockey game, so I passed along the honor to my mother.

But then Meg's flight was full-on cancelled and I was back on pick up duty. 9:30 this morning.

Making her late for work on her second Monday at work. Which, to me, is a really good reason for not travelling the first weekend of your brand new job or, at the very least, maybe not taking the last flight out.

But what do I know?

I'm just the crabby older sister.

Picking up Meg from the airport shaved 90 minutes off of a morning that was already packed. I wanted to run. I wanted to crank out a batch – maybe two – of sugar cookies for Lacey’s hippie marital extravaganza.* I wanted to sleep until my alarm went off at 7:00 am but I didn’t even get to do that, because Meg called at 6:00 am to inform me that she wouldn’t be in until 11:00 am.

And because I am bitchy all I can think about is how Meg is selfish and annoying and inconveniencing me. And that she shouldn’t have travelled this weekend anyway. Because I was stuck entertaining Emma and being annoyed with The Coach.

Which is probably what this rotten mood really comes down to.

Meg got her long-distance relationship. I got The Coach and his apathy. And sometimes that really pisses me off.

Saturday, October 06, 2012

You have just won a contest...it is a trip, but you don't know what it is. Deep down, you are hoping that it is:a) A sort of smallish, local trip for you and three others. Say it is a couple of nights in a nice hotel, some spa services and a really nice meal.b) A super-elaborate trip, but only for you, that includes a week at an incredibly posh Caribbean resort and all sorts of fun activities.

I’m going to go with A.

A week entirely by myself – even if I’m doing all sorts of fun activities – might be a little bit too long. I don’t mind traveling by myself (a significant portion of my trip to Switzerland last year was spent solo) and I’m okay with being alone and if I won a fabulous vacation just for me I wouldn’t complain. But I would be a little afraid that I would be mighty sick of myself after a whole week.

But I would mostly hope for A because A is more than enough and I’d have some really great company, too. Plus, the prize would go not only to me but to my lucky guests. You all know how much extra joy I get out of doing nice things for other people. I wouldn’t hesitate to exchange a couple of days and a bit of glamour to bring along a few people I love.

Friday, October 05, 2012

My 30th birthday has come and gone, but I'm still working through the 30 questions for my 30th birthday.
It's not to late to ask a question if you're curious or bored at work or want to test my math skills! (Spoiler: I'll get the math question wrong.)

If I were to take all of the parts of a Match.com profile and post them here as questions, would you answer them so that I could create the profile for you?

Um, not to encourage you or anything but, yes, I probably would answer them. But it wouldn’t be so you could create a profile for me. It would be for the sake of answering questions and because I would be too naïve to realize that you were just asking me questions straight off of the Match profile.

Although, Lucy and I did fill out Colleen’s Match profile – with the aid of a bottle of wine – maybe three years ago. So there’s a chance that I would recognize a question or two and foil your evil plan! (But probably not.)

While we are on the subject...why on earth won't you just bite the bullet and join Match already? Think of the blog material!!!

I do not have a good answer for this.

I’m stubborn, maybe? I have little or no confidence in my ability to put on a cute dress and go out with a stranger and make conversation and date like a normal person? I like the idea of being an old maid?

I don’t know. It just feels wrong. No, not like that. Not wrong in a moral way or anything like that. Just not so right for me. That’s a horrible reason, I realize this, but I don’t see how I am going to succeed with online dating if the mere prospect of doing it scares the shit out of me. And it kind of does.

I’m not saying that I’ll never do it. I’m not even saying that it’s not a good idea. (In theory, it obviously is.) I’m just not ready or maybe I just don’t want to and I feel like my hesitance doesn’t set me up for success.

It would be a bottomless mine of blog material, however. I’ll give you that.

Thursday, October 04, 2012

The job that I mentioned yesterday? I didn’t get it. I didn’t get invited for an in-person interview.

I don’t like failing and not landing that interview was disappointing. The reason I didn’t progress in the interview process was fairly clear: they were looking for someone who had more experience working with kids than I have.

C’est la vie.

I thought – briefly – that it could really happen.

I was seeing signs everywhere.

I told myself, after I got called for the interview, that I would have a hard time taking that job when I was still up for a local job that I had recently applied for.

And the next day, I got the rejection email for the local job.

I told myself how silly it would be to move if The Coach was even the slightest part of what convinced me to go – and he would have been a small part of what convinced me to go. Because what if this year was his last year coaching there? What if I moved there and he took a job somewhere else next season?

And, an hour before my interview, The Coach called with great news that all but cemented that he’ll be in his job again next season.

And, during the interview, they told me that the next round of interviews would be at the end of the very next week. Wouldn’t you know? I already had a long weekend scheduled. Flying out for an interview would be feasible.

And then the very next day, K emailed me with a question about jobs and moving.

All of this on the cusp of my 30th birthday. Which seems like a good time to make an enormous life change.

Maybe there was something to it.

Signs. Signs. I kept seeing signs. I don’t even know that I believe in signs, but they seemed so blatant and they were so hard to ignore.

Last Thursday night, I got the email that I wasn’t selected for the in-person interview. I was disappointed but I was not devastated. If I don’t have what they’re looking for, and if they're not willing to let me learn that component of the position on the job, at least they decided that before I dropped $600 on a plane ticket.

And it saved me from making a very big, very scary decision.

So maybe those signs weren’t signs after all.

Maybe I was mistaken. Maybe I interpreted them wrong.

That’s what I told myself yesterday, when I was writing about that job that wasn’t meant to be.

Wednesday, October 03, 2012

If we're talking fantasy, I would say South Africa. That place. My goodness, that beautiful and complicated place. It's still in my system.

But you're asking me about reality, aren't you?

I suspect that I would be most comfortable if I remained in the Midwest. I imagine that there would be something comforting about having the ability to drive home in a relatively short period of time. Chicago has always appealed to me – I’ve spent so much time there – and Columbus has had an odd pull as of late.

Moving farther away would undoubtedly be harder for me. Unless I was moving for The Perfect Job, I don’t think that I would move to a place where I don’t know a single soul. Thankfully, I have a geographically diverse group of friends and family. There are a lot of options out there, if I ever get brave enough to explore them.

And fellow bloggers totally count, so you should all be on high alert. We could be neighbors.

Last week, I had a phone interview. I had a phone interview for a job that is very far away. A job that I applied for when things between The Coach and I were much different.

When I got the call to schedule the phone interview, all I could think about was how stupid it would be for me to move for this boy at this point (and probably at any point).

But I scheduled the interview anyway because, hell: a little interview practice never hurt anyone.

I barely remembered applying for the job. So, when I did a little more research into the position and into the system where I would be working, I found myself pretty excited. About the job. It’s in a system that is significantly bigger than the one I currently work in. A system that is refreshingly progressive. A system where there seems to be legitimate room for growth, instead of one where change and advancement is only going to come with retirements.

There aren’t many opportunities in Michigan to work for a system like that.

And I’m ambitious. And, quite frankly, I’m a little bit bored. If I want to stay in this profession, I very well may need to relocate for a position that is like the one I interviewed for last week. Go out and get some experience and then maybe move back with the bulked-up résumé that I am going to need if I ever want to land a leadership role.

Also I would move for Lucy. I would move for Meg. I would move for a really cute, really great guy who actually likes me and isn’t afraid that he actually likes me. Not for The Coach.

Monday, October 01, 2012

I ran to the mall this morning to get a screen protector for my iPad and somehow ended up in the dressing room at Macy's in the most adorable purple lace mini dress that, thankfully, was a size too big. Why do I love dresses so much? Why can I never have enough? Why are there so many that are so adorable? Why can I always find dresses that would be perfect for occasions that I don't have an invitations to?

* * *

On the topic of the iPad: if anyone has any recommendations for The Perfect iPad Case Ever Created, I would like to hear 'em.

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Well, I guess there's no avoiding it. At 10:12 am tomorrow, I will be 30.

I'm working during the day. Technically, birthdays are a paid holiday here at the 'brary, but I'm taking off Friday in lieu of my birthday so that I can have a gloriously long weekend. Lucy and I are leaving Baby A at home and heading down to the D for a fancy dinner. I've already stalked the menu at the restaurant: I'm having the scallops.

* * *

Check out the text message Emma sent me yesterday.﻿

So apparently my cousin is one of them. One of the people who I want to strangle on a regular basis. Is it my fault that you did not address this issue until the last possible second? It is not. And child, do you know how often I hear this?

Hilarious with a side of annoying.

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Yesterday was another marathon of activity: two soccer games and a hockey game in a stretch of 11 hours. Loved the madness last weekend. Loved it again this weekend.

After one of my soccer games, the referee came up to me and said "Good job back there. I haven't seen anyone in this league who is able to contain their forwards." I was playing sweeper - the very last defender - and worked my ass off. The referee made more than a few bad calls that made me seriously question his knowledge of soccer, but I basked in the glow of his compliment nonetheless.

I really love soccer. And I especially love doing it well.

* * *

I convinced myself that the book club that I facilitate did not meet until next week. It meets on Thursday. I have a lot of book to read in a very little period of time. I feel smart.

Hi. I'm A.

Born, raised, educated in the Midwest, I am such a Midwesterner. So Midwestern, if you will.

I am: a blogger of 8+ years, forever searching for my next athletic challenge, hopelessly overscheduled and always, always eating.

I started So Midwestern right after I graduated from college, hoping to chronicle my transition to adulthood. Graduate school, four half marathons, two new nephews, three apartments, a trip to Africa, a sprinkle of heartbreak, dozens of unfinished knitting projects, four turns as a bridesmaid, 8,913 job applications and two full-time positions later: I’m fairly convinced that the day when I feel like a legitimate, full-fledged grownup will never come. So I’ll just keep on blogging.

I write about a little bit of everything and a lot of nothing. Toss my ramblings with a few pictures, a touch of swearing and an endless appreciation for the beauty that is David Beckham and you have So Midwestern. Welcome.